


Make Some Noise

by TheMusicalHermit



Series: Tumblr Transfers [7]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Kidnapping, Murder, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 13:21:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16347485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMusicalHermit/pseuds/TheMusicalHermit
Summary: From its bare concrete walls to the simple tile floor and from the filthy window barely large enough for a cat to the closed metal door, the cell she had been placed in spoke truth to the images running through her thoughts.She choked back a sob and forced her hazy mind to remember what had happened.





	Make Some Noise

**Author's Note:**

> A commissioned fanfic, commissioned by Anonymous

Angela’s stomach was rolling when she woke from her dreamless stupor. She groaned and held her hand to her pounding head. Not one second later her fingers were clenched around her mouth as a bout of sudden nausea forced her to curl into a ball on the hard bed beneath her. She breathed deeply through her nose, wishing the urge to vomit away. Finally, feeling she was no longer in danger of vomiting, she opened her eyes. 

Even blinded by the burning, artificial light, she hoped against hope that it had all been a nightmare. The fire. The spilt food. The destroyed medicine. The acrid smell of ash and burning bodies. The blood. The too realistic images of the soup kitchen attendees being blown to bits. Similar images of her friends being blown to bits. The shock and pain that had flit across each of their faces just before they were vaporised.

The room around her was ruthless in how it squashed that hope. From its bare concrete walls to the simple tile floor and from the filthy window barely large enough for a cat to the closed metal door, the cell she had been placed in spoke truth to the images running through her thoughts.

She choked back a sob and forced her hazy mind to remember what had happened.

They had arrived in the mining town about a week ago - there had been a large welcoming ceremony attended by both the mayor and the mine overseer. Angela had been nervous, still unused as she was to the limelight, but had done her duty as the highest ranking agent present with a smile that had proven exhausting by the end of the day. The quarters her team had been shown to were only just big enough for all ten of them in addition to all the supplies they needed for relief efforts following a recent rogue Omnic attack.

Setting up the supply tent and clinic on the edge of town had taken two days. At the crack of dawn on the third, there were long lines of locals and refugees snaking from the tents, asking for medical aide, water, food, and other essentials.

The ghostly sound of wailing, of muted cries of pain and panic almost drowned out by ringing silence, filled her head for the second time since waking. She could see splashes of blood soaking into the sand again. A red circle crushed beneath a heavy black boot. Shaking her head to clear the images and sounds made her dizzy, made her have to lie back down and close her eyes until the wave of renewed nausea had passed. The pounding of her heart and heaving of her breast took longer to quell.

It was supposed to be two weeks. Six days was all they’d gotten.

She’d noticed the smell almost immediately, during the opening announcement on the first day. Burnt hair and sulphur. She’d asked around, but no one else had noticed the scent.

The second day she’d felt eyes upon her in addition to the smell. No matter where she went, the sensation followed her. When she mentioned it to the team during clean up they’d been concerned but ultimately decided that it was probably just that the locals weren’t used to blondes.

Angela found herself wondering if there was something she could have done to prevent the attack. Something more. Maybe if she had been more diligent. If she had taken more care in choosing where to set up the clinic. If she had tried to find the source of her discomfort and excised it like a good doctor, a better doctor, would have.

Somewhere outside the room a radio clicked on, along with what sounded like the clinking of bottles and a strident voice made unintelligible by the door.

Angela recognised the song as one that had been playing during the last supper she’d had with her friends. Tears tickled down the sides of her face. She and her friends had been sitting together, laughing and chatting. The same upbeat music had been sung to. Now her friends were…

Angela should have been more alert. Especially when the sensation of being watched left her increasingly on edge. She threw herself into her work. It distracted her enough to pretend nothing was wrong, as it always had.

Then, as quickly as the feeling had come on, it stopped. Around the same time came rumours of the mine overseer buying a motorcycle - something seen as odd for a businessman known for modern sports cars. Angela hadn’t cared, glad to not feel like she was being watched anymore.

She was wrong to have done so, Angela’s mind whispered as she opened her eyes again. She should have known better.

It happened the sixth day. She had just finished seeing to a young girl with an infected wound. She had opened the tent flap, handed the child a cherry lolly. The girl had joined her parents in line for the soup kitchen. Then the bombs rolled in and… chaos.

Pure, unadulterated chaos.

Someone had caught her when Angela ran out to help, to heal. They had slapped her staff from her hands and forced a foul smelling rag over her face. She remembered bony, oil and dirt stained fingers. She could recall, too, how her back was forced against a tall, muscular body, the radiating warmth through her lab coat. Someone saying something in her ear.

What exactly was said escaped her. She wasn’t sure it mattered; what she had to do now was figure out where she was.

She stood and looked around the room again. Bare, almost to the point of being unfinished and empty but for the rickety bed adorned with a simple mattress and bed covers she had woken on. Her lab coat was gone, as were her badge, shoes, and hair ties. She ran her fingers through her loose hair out of habitual desire to be presentable even as her thoughts began racing with questions revolving around the wheres, whys, and whos of her current situation.

A loud, annoyed sounding groan rang out from outside the door, and when Angela padded closer she found herself able to distinguish words over the music.

“— a corpse, if you ask me,” said a man with a strong Australian accent. “Fuck me. Wish she was awake already. Not only ‘cause she’ll take a look at —” The man paused for a moment, then giggled. “Oi, mate, it weren’t my fault you ended up with shrapnel in ya. You’re the one what elected to _ignore_ me _ample_ warnings ‘bout the splash radius of the new ‘nades.”

Another pause, then a chair scraped across the floor. “Alright, yanno what? Maybe… Oi, fuck you, ya bastard, I’m going! No need ta snap and point like I’m some kinda dog or some load of bollocks like that. You've got no right give me orders, anyway! I mean, _Jesus_ , I’m _your_ boss! Never get any goddamn respect ‘bout that _basic_ cunting fact. Never. Goddamn load of shit.”

The voice gradually grew louder and clearer and Angela _knew_ he was coming closer. She looked about the room. Hiding behind or under the bed was a bad idea - the man would look for her first there. Pretending to be asleep seemed an even worse one. Wait… No one checked the corner first without training. Maybe she’d have a bit of an advantage if she waited there?

“But I’m telling ya, she’s ‘prolly still asleep, and if she is then I don’t wanna hear no more whining ‘bout your shoulder when I’ve got bigger reasons ta _whine_ 'bout right _here_. Yeah, drink your beer and sulk ‘bout it like a fucking child for all I care.”

Angela had just padded to the corner closest to the door, pressing herself close to the walls, when the lock clicked and the door was wrenched open.

“There! See,” the man said, “the sheila’s not awake yet. So shut it ‘bout your — oh shit where’d she go.”

Someone chuckled as a tall man with patchy blond hair stepped inside the door to stare, dumbfounded, at the abandoned bed. Angela bit her lip to prevent herself from gasping. The man was a walking signpost of hardship, something made obvious by his gauntness and prostheses even before her doctor’s eye began cataloguing signs of various health issues. Underneath it all, though, she could also see the youthful handsomeness that shone through.

And Angela couldn’t put her finger on it, but this man was somehow familiar…

A muffled voice, too muffled for her to understand and too quiet to be nearby, came from beyond. The man answered without turning around. “Of _course_ I’m gonna check under the bed,” he said, crouching down to do just that. “Wasn’t born yesterday. She has to be here _somewhere_.”

Angela edged closer to the door and spun to duck out of it. She was immediately stopped by the click of a gun. She stared down the barrel at a silver haired, heavyset man with a black mask, a pig belly tattoo, heavy black boots, and a blood soaked towel duct taped around his shoulder. This man, too, was somehow familiar.

The masked man chuckled, or maybe just coughed, before slurping his beer loudly through a straw. After a moment of seemingly picking her apart through that impassive mask, he coughed, or laughed, again and leant back to set his boots on a coffee table cluttered with various bottles and bits of jewellery. Then, in English again too muffled for Angela to understand, he said… something.

“Well, _hello_ ,” came the other man’s sing song voice as thin, hard fingers dug into her shoulders. “Was just thinking to meself ‘bout how unfair it was that you weren’t returned from the fairies just yet.” He stepped in, close enough that he seemed to engulf her body, and pet at her hair. “Almost started getting worried that the chloroform was bad and I’d poisoned you or something.”

“Chloroform is poisonous. It can cause kidney failure, among other ailments, in high enough dosages,” Angela found herself murmuring, returning to citing facts to calm herself. At least that explained the nausea and headache. She tried to step away from the man at her back only for his metal fingers to dig deeper into her shoulder. “Please let me go.”

He laughed and brushed his gloved hand across her body to draw circles on her hip. His nose nestled into her hair, and he sighed, saying, “Well that’d be _stupid_. I’ve only just got ya. But —” His chin landed on the top of her head and he started goose stepping her towards the other man. “— you’ve got a point. Ya gotta take a look at ol’ Pig Face here. See, I’d told him ‘bout my new grenades and their inspiration and how I’d made ‘em and all that, giving fair warning about the tweaks I’d made. The ‘nades worked brilliantly, making, _oh_ , such _beautiful_ explosions. ‘Course you saw that, but—”

“Pig Face” made another noise.

Her more hands on captor sucked his teeth and released her to stand next to the coffee table, hands on his hips. “Nah, mate, I _told_ ya all you needed ta know. So what if it was all mixed in with the rest? Yanno, maybe we should get your ears checked while we’re at it. _Haha_ , going a bit deaf in our old age, are we?”

He laughed and ducked the thrown beer bottle. “Temper, temper, Roadie.”

Angela had been slowly sidling away, thinking them too distracted by their spat to notice. Then the masked man turned to look at her, adjusted his gun’s aim, and fired. The blast left her shrieking and crouching down as scrap metal flew a few scant centimetres above her head.

“Don’t move,” he said, enunciating the two words loudly and clearly before speaking in the same muffled voice as before.

“What,” the blond man said. “Oh, _right_ , she’s got _no_ idea! No wonder she’s all quiet! ‘Prolly thinking we’re just some random cunts or something.” He rounded on Angela and held his arms out wide. “Angela, you’ve the rare pleasure of being in the company of Junkrat and Roadhog! Freedom fighters extraordinaire!”

Junkrat and Roadhog. The pieces fell together quickly. Reports from _Moments in Crime_ flickering through her mind. And, somehow Junkrat knew her name.

“H-how do you know my name? We’ve never - I _don’t_ know you.”

“Ah, but I know _you_. I walked with you once upon a dream,” came Junkrat’s smiling answer. “But, _eh_ , not sure _walking’s_ the right term, _ahaha_ …”

Roadhog simply held up her badge before flicking it amongst the mess on the table.

She was screwed. Angela drew in a deep breath, knowing from reports that those who played along with the terrorists’ capers usually ended up alright afterwards. Usually. Come on, Angie. Be smart. Flatter them. Even if they aren’t in any sense of the phrase _freedom fighters_.

“I’m not sure if freedom fighters would be the most correct,” she said instead.

Damn it.

Junkrat’s arms dropped as he gawked at her. Roadhog let out another coughing laugh and mumbled something then, finally, lowered his gun.

“Nah, nah sheila, you’ve got it all wrong,” Junkrat muttered, growing louder as he stepped closer and closer until he loomed over her. “We’re freedom fighters. We fight for the little people, killing all two-faced suits and anyone who tries to protect their goddamn _worthless_ hides. Oh, and Omnics, ‘course, but they don’t count since they’re not really alive.”

Angela couldn’t help her response. “So how, _exactly_ , does blowing up a soup kitchen and a clinic equate with fighting for freedom.”

Junkrat’s mouth opened and closed, one hand raised as if about to make a point. Then he giggled and scratched the back of his head. “To be honest, dunno _why_ we had ta do youse lot in. It was part of paying back a, uh, let’s call it a _debt_ we’ve got with S- … _someone_ for their aide in getting access to some _valuable_ video streams back when we were in Mexico. Said your team was with Overwatch or something, and, seeing as you lot were fine with what happened to _us_ way back when, we figured that taking all youse out (like we was asked) was just desserts. ‘Specially when we get paid both in the form of getting a bit’a breathing space in regards ta coppers _and_ with all the loot here —”

“You killed a _lot_ of the _little people_ you know,” Angela argued, feeling tears prick at her eyes and emotions clog her voice. “Innocent people. Men, women, chi—”

Her throat closed up as the image of a crushed red lolly flicked through her mind. Unbidden, her eyes flicked to the soles of Roadhog’s heavy black boots. Only clumps of half dried mud clung to the worn treads. She wrapped her arms around herself and turned away, feeling a few drops of water fall from her lashes.

Both of them laughed at her tears.

“Oi, Roadie, get a load of that,” Junkrat snickered. “Crying over the stupid bastards, _hahaha_!” He shot her a smile. It didn’t reach his eyes, and his following words sounded all the crueller for it. “I’ll have ya know, Angie, that if someone’s too _daft_ to react quick when being attacked then they don’t really _deserve_ ta be alive in the first place. World’s got no place for those what only rely on others to protect them.”

Roadhog’s amused snorting only stopped when Junkrat frowned at him.

“Now, here’s how we’re gonna do things,” Junkrat said, turning back to Angela and striding over to rub at her arms in a way that chafed more than comforted. “You’re gonna pull the shrapnel from the big guy, sew up his wounds, check his hearing ‘cause he’s apparently going deaf —” Roadhog made an angry sounding grunt. “— or not, and then we’ll let you choose something _nice_ and _shiny_ from the suit’s wife’s jewellery box!”

Angela searched his smiling, sooty face and heavy golden eyes, feeling cautiously optimistic that getting away could be as simple as patching up the target of a worldwide manhunt. Still, she couldn’t help but ask, “And then you’ll let me go?”

The answering laugh was like a punch to the stomach.

“Yeah, nah, love,” Junkrat said, cupping her face. He tilted his forehead against hers and dropped his voice to a warm murmur that left ice in its wake. “Then you and I are gonna get ta _know_ each other better. Ya see, I’ve been _nice_ and so fucking _patient_ , waiting for ya to wake up, and I plan ta collect on me little venture here. ‘Sides, not like us needing your medical skills so soon after we nabbed ya was, yanno, expected. Did a real bang up job getting Hog to admit that my wanting ya was more than just me thinking with me dick, though, so see? Silver linings, and all that.”

Either he let her go or Angela finally managed to push away from him. All the same, she wheeled backwards and fell over the couch behind her. Junkrat followed with a short bark of laughter, pinning her flailing wrists over her head. He hovered above her, blatant lust clouding his face, and slowly, deliberately, rolled his hips against her clenched thighs.

“Get off of me,” Angela hissed. She fought back as best she could — writhing and bucking, even attempting to headbutt him.

He was too strong and fast. All her actions made him do was hiss with amusement and shoot down to attempt to kiss her. He was undeterred when she turned her head away, working chapped lips down to her ear.

“Ya like playing a bit _rough_ , d’ya,” he whispered. “Damn, and here I’d thought a nice little thing like _you_ would wanna be treated all delicate-like. _Hah_ , good ta know my dreams weren’t too far off.” Then he sat up, pulling her up with him and caging her wrists behind her back. “But, first things first. You’ve gotta see a man about some scrap.”

Soon Angela was sat on Junkrat’s lap, supplied with a box cutter and cosmetic tweezers, and pulling chunks of twisted iron out of layers of muscles and fat. Roadhog made very little noise. Instead, he sucked on a bottle of brandy Junkrat had shoved in his hands. He was a good patient, more than ready to shift or hold one of her tools when she asked.

Junkrat, however, was not a good audience. He had procured a drumstick leg from somewhere and chewed noisily in her ear as he watched the proceedings. Angela would have moved, if not for the arm around her waist.

Her requests for him to stop eating were met with complaints about how hungry he was. Telling him off for trailing his hand too close to her crotch and inner thighs garnered laughter. Asking him to not jiggle his legs resulted in him grinding against her. Even her polite request for something to put the metal on was denied — Junkrat just hummed, pressed his lips to her neck, and ordered her to drop it to the floor.

Angela was unsure if her lip could curl any further. Then Roadhog spoke, still unintelligibly. Junkrat groaned and released her before stomping upstairs, muttering to himself all the while.

“Asked him to get some rags and some higher proof alcohol,” he said to her as soon as Junkrat’s voice had faded to silence, now speaking loud and clear. “Get that finished up. Don’t want to risk him buggering my shoulder by proxy.”

“Your shoulder may be regardless,” Angela said, readjusting her hold on the slick box cutter. “Was what he said right? About your attack being some sort of debt settlement?”

Roadhog nodded.

“And you just… don’t care about how many people died?”

He shrugged. “People die all the time. Worse ways to go. Disease, age. Least a bomb or a bullet’s fast.”

Angela opened her mouth to argue, but stopped when she heard footsteps run across the floor upstairs. She had a limited amount of time and Roadhog was drunk enough to answer her questions. “Where are we? Is this the overseer’s house?” At Roadhog’s nod, she continued. “Where are he and his family? Are they alright?”

“They’ve gone down under,” was Roadhog’s amused answer. “Won’t be bothered by us being here.”

Down under? Did he mean the Land Down Under or…? Another chilling wave of uncertainty crashed over her and made her voice waver. “What do you guys want from me?”

“ _I_ didn’t want anything from you. Didn’t really want you here at all.” Roadhog turned to watch her slide the tweezers back into his shoulder. “If not for this I’d likely’ve offed you.”

“Ah.” She was unsure of how to take such news. “Will _you_ let me go, then? You can consider it payment for your shoulder - letting me go. Alive, that is.”

Roadhog just shrugged his uninjured shoulder. “You’ve got your uses. You’ll patch us up, make my food. S’all I’m interested in. For Junkrat, though, you’re an outlet for his energy. May not run his mouth as much. _Heh_ , maybe for once I’ll get some goddamn peace and quiet.”

“Peace and _quiet_ ,” shrieked Junkrat, who had re-entered with a stack of shirts and a bottle of vodka. “Why I _never_. So, what, the reason you even get her first is ‘cause you were tuning out me warnings, is that it? Oh, _hohoho_ , that’s _rich_. Shake your head all you want! Don’t think I’ve forgotten how ya used to respond to all me jokes.” He dropped his load on the coffee table and, grabbing Angela by the head, said, “Bet _she’ll_ never tell me that shit, will ya Angie?”

The tools fell to the now filthy floor and Angela’s stained hands wrapped around his wrists. “Actually a bit more peace and quiet _would_ be nice right now,” she shouted. “In fact, doctor’s orders! If I’m in the middle of a surgery no one can bother me!”

“Doctor’s orders,” Junkrat spat before shoving her away with such force she almost faceplanted in the open wound. “I’m getting real fucking tired of having other people give me _orders_. But, hey, yanno what? I’m a good boss.” Swiping the brandy from Roadhog, Junkrat plopped down on the couch, threw the straw to the floor, and took a swig.

When Angela didn’t move, he smiled and gestured to the seeping wound. “Well g’arn then. Finish patching his arm ‘fore he bleeds ta death. _Hah_ , youse two _lovebirds_ ’ve already gone and buggered my _pleasant_ mood and ya _don’t_ wanna see me _really_ pissed off. Which is what I’ll _be_ if ya let my best mate die, sheila.”

Angela glared at Junkrat. He answered this by flashing his eyebrows and smiling at her as he drank. She took a moment to calm herself and set back to work. 

The radio filled the silence. During the time Angela finished the music went from upbeat, to smooth, and back to another upbeat song, something by that Brazilian revolutionary. Behind her she could hear the sloshing of the brandy as she dropped the last piece of scrap to the floor. She began sewing up the flesh using tiny, time consuming stitches.

Maybe it was good Junkrat was drinking. If they both got drunk she could escape more easily. They were in the mine overseer’s house, or his basement more specifically, which they were still in the vicinity of the town. If she could get to the mayor’s house and phone for aide…

“You done yet,” Junkrat demanded. The couch squeaked under his movements.

She shook her head. “I’ve still got to stitch him up.”

Fingers tangled in her hair and dragged her backwards off the stool. Angela couldn’t help but release a surprised, painful squawk. It died when Junkrat’s other hand clicked her jaw shut, holding her head back against his chest.

His giggle was as frightening as his dark look. “Oi, this innit cunting needlepoint. I’ve sewn up my fair share of cuts, and I _know_ ya don’t need such _dainty_ stitching ta keep things together.”

“This won’t scar as badly,” she managed, afraid of what it meant that Roadhog was taking the needle from her. “Small stitches ensure that the tissue joins back together properly.”

Junkrat glanced at Roadhog in silent question and then smiled at his silent answer. “ _Heh_ , he don’t care ‘bout that. But, ya see, I’m getting real fucking bored and watching you _sitting_ there all _spunk_ and all focused like’s making me donger hard as a fucking rock.” As if he needed to prove this, he caught her by the waist and pressed her against his hard on. “See what you’ve done ta me, sheila? And seeing as I’m the boss ‘round here and what I say goes —” He stood, keeping one hand painfully fisted in her hair, and started towards the room. “— Roadhog, you take care of the, ah, less delicate bits’a surgery yourself. Got some rather pressing matters to attend to.”

Angela protested all the way back to her cell, trying in vain to extract her hair from the prosthetic hand that seemed to twist deeper with each step they took. Junkrat laughed and threw her into the room, spinning to salute Roadhog and slam the door shut behind him. Humming happily, he locked it and shook the handle for good measure before turning around.

His laughed to discover that Angela had vaulted over the bed and snatched up the pillow to brandish it against him. Dark gold eyes dragged over her as he slid his key-chain into his pocket.

“Ya wanna have a pillow fight?” He scuttled forward to plant both of his hands on the formerly white bedspread. “Seems a _tad_ bit unfair, don’t it, what with you being the only one with a pillow, but, hey, I’m always down for a pre-root scrap.”

“Stay away from me,” Angela hissed. She swiped at him, missing by several centimetres.

Junkrat chuckled. “Nah, no way, love.” He scrambled up on the bed. “See, rooting’s all up close and personal, so all this… staying _away_ business’s got ta stop.”

Angela swung the pillow at his laughing face again. It collided with his temple, leaving the pillowcase with a grey streak of ash to match Angela’s rusty red hand-prints. Junkrat giggled and shadowed her retreat. She swung again. This time, though, Junkrat caught the pillow and yanked it from her grip to strike back.

Now, pillows don’t hurt. Far from it. Yet it is still rather disorienting to be hit in the side of the head when one already has a headache and lingering dizziness from being drugged. As such, Angela’s stumbling and falling over the corner of the bed shouldn’t have been as surprising to her as it was.

“Huh. You _really_ are not cut out for fighting. _Haha_ , Roadhog was _right_ , it seems. You’re just the bombshell blonde they put on recruitment drives ta get young blokes like me ta stand all at attention, if yanno what I mean,” Junkrat joked, throwing the pillow over his shoulder and hopping off the bed to stand over her. “Still, this is honestly a _bit_ of a disappointment, yanno. Was kinda looking forward to a nice blu—“

Whatever he’d been saying cut off with a yelp of surprise when Angela twisted beneath him, grabbed his outstretched arm, planted her socked feet on his stomach, and flipped him. Swivelling around before he could recover, she pulled his left arm into a joint lock and wrapped her legs around his neck. He coughed and pulled at her choke hold with his prosthetic hand, legs scrabbling uselessly on the bare floor.

He slowly went still, his horrible choking petering off to silence, and Angela sent a silent thanks to Genji for his lessons. She kept her legs around his neck for a few moments more and then went to check his pulse. His heartbeat was strong and steady.

She hated that she felt a rush of relief at that. It would be a kindness to the world to kill the man for all he’d done. She felt through his pockets for the key-chain, keeping one eye on his face for signs of his inevitable reawakening.

Yet, despite herself, she kept finding signs of handsomeness in his now calm features. How different his life could have been, she thought as she glanced down to his pocket, if it hadn’t gone up in flames due to the Omnium Explosion. How different that entire situation would have been if Overwatch had just sent the negotiators to the A.L.F. itself rather than just to Prime Minister —

Junkrat’s chest shook with laughter. Angela froze. Blue eyes shot up to find a piercing golden gaze starting into them. “Yanno, was half expecting you ta keep on choking me. _Haha_ , ‘snot really my kink, though. Is it yours?”

Then, suddenly, Angela was on her back, one hand clawing at the gloved grip on her throat and the other trapped by both Junkrat’s pocket and the press of their bodies. She couldn’t breathe. The pounding of her head grew louder and stronger in time with the growing warmth of her face.

It was because of the trapped blood, that she knew, but Junkrat giggled and nosed at her cheek with a grin.

“That blush’a yours is saying ya really _do_ like this,” he groaned. “ _Haha_ , aw, look - you’ve even got your hand down me pants.” He reached down to pull her hand from his pocket and shove it to his crotch, key-chain falling to the side. “Missed by a few centimetres though. Oh, don’t look so worried, doll! You’re in good hands now. See, not so hard is it? Well, not yet at least, _hahaha_! Just needs a bit of a hand.”

Angela whined, trying to extract herself even as Junkrat forced her to grip his dick and jerk it roughly through his shorts. Angela was wheezing now that his hand was clenching ever tighter, and she hated how he groaned at the sound. She hated how he curled in pleasure. She hated how praised her for her unwilling actions. She hated how he ground one thigh against her core. She hated his almost sweet kisses. She hated how they were marred by whispered assurances that he’d make her cum so much she’d never want anyone else.

She hated how she could feel a growing heat between her legs with each move he made.

Angela marshalled her strength and struck out with the heel of her palm. Junkrat’s teeth crashed together with a loud snap. He wheeled back, looking startled and holding his jaw. She struck out again, this time landing a hit on his stomach. Junkrat groaned in pain and doubled over, his hands sliding from her.

The sudden rush of air to her lungs made her dizziness even worse. Angela coughed, sluggishly turning over to grab at the key. Cold metal grabbed at her hip and caught more fabric than flesh. All the same, Junkrat hummed out a laugh. Angela elbowed behind her blindly and caught him on what might have been his cheek.

He didn’t let go. The continued pressure on her shirt was drawing it tight against her chest and throat. She was choking again, and clawed at the collar as if to loosen it.

“Let me go,” she rasped, trying to kick at him as he moved up her legs. “No, let me go!”

He jerked harder at her shirt - the fabric began to give way. “Yeah, nah, you’ve gotta ask nicely,” he said. “G’arn, _beg_ for me.”

“No,” was her terse reply, reaching back to try and claw at him. “Let me go.”

“That’s not asking nicely, Angie.” His dark laughter almost drowned out the sound of her shirt tearing. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach ya how ta be nice.”

Both his hands went to tearing her shirt down her arms. Then he leant down to kiss at her bare back. This put his face right next to her head. Perhaps he was distracted his rather obviously growing excitement that her flesh was being revealed. Angela didn’t know or care - she head-butted him. He dodged, and she used the opening to flip them.

Angela used her new advantage and made quick work of him, hitting some key areas Genji had taught her. Snatching back up the key-chain, she ran to the door.

Her hands were shaking with adrenaline. Too much, in fact, she found when it took three times to even force one of the identical keys into the lock. It didn’t turn. Angela’s heart was beating faster than it ever had on the battlefield. She _had_ to get out. If she could just get the door open…

The next key didn’t work either. Behind her Junkrat was stirring. Beyond the door she could hear the radio clearly, the volume at its maximum. Her hands shook as she tried to force the last key into the lock. Junkrat was coming towards her. She was holding the key the wrong way. He was almost on her. The key slid into the lock and turned.

Angela began pulling the door open only for a heavy hand to fall against it and force it shut again.

“You’re a bad girl, yanno that?” Junkrat sounded caught between humour and wrath. “Wanting the door open. You into being choked _and_ being watched? _Haha_ , you’re right fucking kinky, aren’t ya. But seems we’ve got a _problem_ , you and I. See, I _don’t_ wanna share ya with Hog, even if it’s just him watching,” he said, pinning her to the door and sliding his left hand down her bare stomach. “Deal’s that he gets you as a personal cook. We split your medical skills. And I get what I’ve wanted since I first saw you —” His hand shoved its way down her trousers. “— your cunt.”

She’d known what he wanted and had done for a long time. But now with her shirt in tatters over her arms and shoulders, her bra clad torso shoved against the cold door, the feeling of his hot body and hard erection against her back… She had been so close to escaping. She had been able to keep her fear at bay until that moment, but hearing his desires spelled out so crudely…

Angela jolted when his fingers pressed roughly against her clit. Tears pricked at her eyes and, for the first time in years, she reacted instinctively in her native tongue.

“Du Schwein!” Angela, unable to move for his weight, screeched out the insult and called the man what he was - a pig.

“Ah, nein, mein Schatzi,” he exclaimed, sounding like he was having the time of his life. “ _Haha_ , das ist der andere.”

Her mind stuttered. How. How did he know German? How did he know enough to deflect her insult to his accomplice? Did he know exactly what that pet name meant? Did he know how chilling it was, to have the refuge of _her_ language ripped from her in a time like this?

Junkrat took advantage of her shock to finish ripping her shirt down her arms and tie her arms together. “Now, my darling,” he whispered in her ear, grabbing a fistful of hair and cupping her through her trousers, “while I do like the occasional pre-root scuffle, this’s gone on _quite_ long enough, don’t ya think?”

Angela shrieked when he dragged her from the door, shouting further insults in both English and German. Junkrat just laughed and kissed her neck, murmuring a mix of endearments and dark promises in the same fashion. Then, once away from the door, he forced her to her knees. She couldn’t help wincing, first when her knees slammed against the hard floor and again when Junkrat roughly threaded his fingers through her bangs. He jerked her head back, standing so close that her nose brushed against his bulge. His eager smile and lusty look made her feel trapped, even more so than she already was, and she pulled against his iron hold.

Her captor laughed, unzipping his trousers and fishing his long, uncut cock out. It was already leaking precum. Angela was made closely aware of this fact when the thing twitched and smeared some fluid on her cheek.

“Fuck that’s hot,” Junkrat breathed out, wiping the head over her cheeks and lips. Angela’s lips twitched in despair - she’d never felt so degraded, not with any of her previous partners. “Oh! I've got an _idea_! Now, doll, we both know how ya like being choked, yeah?” Junkrat’s whisper was almost loving, though he caught her chin with painful prosthetic fingers. “Well I’ve just thought of a way for the both of us to get the most _enjoyment_ outta it. Now, be good and open wide for me.”

She pressed her lips tighter.

“C’mon, Angie,” he cajoled, his prosthetic thumb cold against her lips. “We’ve had enough fighting. I know ya like me - ya didn’t kill me when you had the chance, after all! C’mon, open up and I’ll make sure ya have as much fun as I _know_ I will.”

Her glare was answered with a sigh. His cold fingers forced their way past her lips and then between her teeth to wrench her jaw apart. She bit at his unyielding metal thumb in vain, only to wince at the way it hit her teeth. Junkrat laughed at her pained look and forced his dick into her mouth with a groan so loud it echoed.

Angela gagged at the taste of him. At long last, tears leaked from her eyes as he forced himself deeper.

“Yeah, take it all,” he leered, staring at the way her lips wrapped around him. “Choke on it.”

Junkrat forced her to follow his order, thrusting roughly in and out of her mouth. Angela felt her cheeks burn at his groans and agonised at how lewd her own attempts to breathe sounded with his cock hilting itself in her throat. She couldn’t breathe properly. She couldn’t breathe at all. Her vision started to tinge with black.

She was going to pass out.

Looking up with blurred vision, Angela tried to communicate her need for him to stop. Junkrat’s eyes were almost black, his mouth dropped open and his tongue lashing at his lips. When he noticed her silent pleading he smirked and thrust faster.

“You like that, don’t ya?” His taunting laugh transformed into a moan, hips stuttering when she sobbed around his cock. “ _Fuck_. Oh, yeah, you like that. Such a good little slut for me… fuck _me_ , Angie, your fucking mouth is _heaven_.” He let out a hoarse laugh and thrust in as far as he could, leaving her writhing in his hold while he groaned.

The air almost burnt when he withdrew. Angela coughed and spit, wanting nothing more than to curl up and wash her mouth of the musky taste. Tears streamed freely from her eyes, something that made him hum when he pulled at her hair to lock her gaze on his.

“Please.” Angela felt unable to go above a whisper - her throat hurt _so much_. “Stop.”

Junkrat cocked his head to the side. “Didn’t quite catch that, darl, but it don’t matter.” His thumb traced under her eyelid, wiping at her tears. “Oh, that’s an idea… How wet’re ya?” He knelt down, unbuttoning her trousers to roughly finger her.

Angela blinked, rolling her eyes to the heavens when he gave out a pleased hum. It was just a physical response, she told herself. Purely physical. His words clashed with those assurances.

“ _Ooh_ , ya _do_ like this. You’re already real fucking wet down here, but… Ah well. Waste not, ‘n all that.”

She’d thought he couldn’t get any more depraved. She was wrong. Angela’s sobs grew harder the more Junkrat smeared his hot dick across her tear-stained cheeks. Occasionally he’d run it across her lips or dip it into her heaving mouth, only to continue wiping across her face. Her tears didn’t stop. She knew what he was doing. He was playing the part of that Pollock artist, and her face was the canvass. A canvass covered with smudged makeup and pigments mixed with various fluids.

“Please,” she cried, regaining her voice. “Please, stop.”

“Yeah, I’ve had enough of this too, love,” he laughed, dragging her up again and throwing her on the bed. Her arms caught under her painfully, still tied together by the remnants of her shirt. “Time for the main event!”

Her renewed protests fell on deaf ears. Junkrat tore the rest of her clothes off, first her trousers then her bra, and left biting kisses on her exposed breasts. “Just as lovely,” he crowed, nipping her between each word, “as I dreamt they’d be. Wasted so, so much cum dreaming ‘bout what I’d do with _these_. But later, later. Not gonna waste any more, _oh_ , not with you _finally_ here with me.”

No sooner had he spoken did he catch one of her knees and force it up on his shoulder. Angela tried to shimmy away as he lined up with her hole, but he stopped her with a single hand on her hip. Then he slammed in with a single, harsh thrust. His moan of delight drowned out her stuttering groan of pain, and he crushed her into the bed.

At first he was still, scraping his teeth along her shoulders and throat. Then, grabbing another fistful of hair, he made her look him in the eye. And he began to thrust, slowly and steadily, as if testing out how far he could hilt himself. Angela felt full, fuller than she’d ever felt, and tried to look away as Junkrat’s eyelids fluttered in pleasure. A soft jerk to her scalp had her looking back to those gold rimmed pools of black oil.

Sucking in a harsh breath, he forced a deep kiss to her lips. “You like making noise, don’t ya,” he whispered. His hips started snapping faster against hers, drawing soft, unintentional grunts from her. “And ya like letting everyone know you’re getting dicked too, yeah? Like getting perved at? You dirty, _dirty_ girl.”

Mouth falling to her ear, he filled it with a guttural groan. “Yanno, Hog thinks you’ll keep me _quiet_. Well, let’s give him something to listen ta listen to other than that _shite_ music of his.”

His next thrust had her fighting back a scream, staring wide eyed at the white ceiling and the burning, bare bulb there. Junkrat must have found her expression hilarious. His laughter rang in her ears. Then, kissing her temple, he thrust again. Harder this time. Hard enough to make the bed rattle and squeak. Hard enough to make Angela squeak. The next thrust was full of the same, raw power, and this time Angela cried out again.

Looking back, Angela wasn’t sure if it was in pleasure or pain. Junkrat made sure to draw out loud cries of both as he pounded her into the mattress, and each one he made sure to answer with his own shouts of praise or pleasure.

She wasn’t sure, either, of how long it lasted, or of how many times she was made to cum. She knew only that her hands were numb by the time Junkrat grabbed her hips with bruising hands and thrust deep within her one last time.

Her throat felt raw. Her core, still stuffed full of his pulsating member, felt raw. In fact, Angela felt raw all over. Only her hands weren’t raw - they were cold and numb, bound and trapped by their combined weight. 

Angela didn’t protest when Junkrat rolled them to the side. She didn’t react when he positioned them so that he was still buried inside her. She kept still when he brushed his lips against hers. Outside the room the radio was blaring, but Angela could hear Junkrat’s praises perfectly.

“Such a good girl,” he breathed, petting her hair and kissing her. “Such a lovely pet. _Haha_ , you did _well_ , being so loud for me. My beautiful, darling doll. So, _so_ good, and all _mine_.”

Angela, paradoxically, felt comforted by his words and how he snuggled her under his chin.

“I’m gonna keep you.”


End file.
